


life is a highway

by agentmaine



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Road Trips, teenagers being dumb and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmaine/pseuds/agentmaine
Summary: Fabian Seacaster is not far from turning 18, and he decides in the middle of the night that he needs a road trip, one with three goals in mind: do something new, do something stupid, do something that scares him. He decides there's no better company for this than the one and only Riz Gukgak.I mean, why WOULDN'T he agree to come?(yes, the title is from the cars soundtrack.)brought to you by the d20 big bang! check out @goidcliffs on twitter for me the writer, and @w0rm_party on twitter for my artist!
Relationships: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111
Collections: Dimension 20 Big Bang





	life is a highway

There’s something about the air that feels different in Fabian’s lungs as he breathes it in, rounding another sharp corner on the Hangman (and potentially breaking another road traffic law, but that’s not something to worry about right now, is it?) on his way to the Strongtower Luxury Apartments. It might be the fact that it’s a particularly cold night, where the air is sharp as daggers and only accentuated by the speed at which he travels, or the fact that it’s 3am and the whole  _ world  _ feels different, one step to the left of normality as he races through the streets. 

In this dimly-lit, sleepy suburbia, Fabian Aramais Seacaster hangs another right on his demonic motorbike and feels like a bullet firing from a gun, a bright, shooting spark of vibrance and life and teenage rebellion, disturbing the peace. He wants to take this feeling and put it in a bottle, but right now it feels fleeting, as though his excitement could shift to anxiety at a moment’s notice and he would be right back to square one. 

That won’t do, not for the plan he formulated approximately 44 minutes ago, and that’s why he plans to chase the feeling until it’s solid, strong, palpable. That’s why he plans to do something impulsive, something fun, something stupid and trouble-causing. That’s why he plans to be driving with Elmville disappearing over his shoulder within the next 30 minutes.

He just has one last thing to grab first.

Or, more accurately, person.

As the Hangman pulls to a smooth stop outside of the towering building of apartments, Fabian pats its handlebars - a habit developed in the brief time his bike was a dog, because he feels the hellhound inside is deserving of what can be considered a pet every now and then, even in bike form - and takes a deep breath. “Wish me luck, Hangman!”

“Good luck, sire.” The bike speaks back to him inside his head, accompanied by the roaring of an engine. “Though, I do not understand why we must take the Ball on your quest.”

“Company is never a bad thing, Hangman! The more the merrier, as they say.” Fabian laughs as he strides into the building with a confidence copied from the memory of his father, one that he’s still learning to make his own. Another reason he has to do this, he reminds himself as he runs up three flights of stairs, the pounding of his feet in the empty hallway echoing like thunder, the flickering of fluorescent bulbs an artificial light to accompany the storm of his own creation.

When he reaches Riz’s apartment, he wastes no time in knocking at the door, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the Gukgaks inside will be awake. He’s proven right when, mere moments later, Riz comes to the door, a mug of coffee in his hand and a look of confusion on his face.

“Fabian? What’re you doing here? Everything okay?” His brows are furrowed, a look of concern etching its way into his expression.

“Everything’s brilliant, the Ball.” Fabian replies, confident at the surface without fault, as he always is. “You and I are going on a _ road trip _ .”

“We… we’re what?” The concern doesn’t fade from his expression, Fabian notices, and rolls his eyes. “Hey, do you  _ realise  _ what time it is? Where? Why? Where’s everyone else? When was this planned?”

Fabian rolls his eyes again, twice in a row now, and gently pushes past Riz to enter into the apartment. He walks in like he owns the place, out of both confidence and familiarity. It’s far from his first visit to Riz’s home, although he largely insists they spend time at Seacaster Manor. Still, the place is comfortable to him, and he walks straight to Riz’s bedroom. Riz trails behind, a hand dragging slightly down his face as he watches, knowing that little he says or does will dissuade Fabian from continuing. Once in Riz’s room, he goes to the drawers where the boy keeps his clothes and begins pulling items he knows they may need - gun included.

“Okay, first of all: yes, I know it’s early. Or late. But you’re awake, aren’t you? As for where, we figure that out. Why? Because I am on a path of self discovery, the Ball. Everyone else is at home in their beds, and none of this is planned at all.” He drops a torch, some rope, and a spare sweater into his bag and turns to look at Riz. “Is that all clear now?”

“No.” The response is deadpan, but there’s a hint of a smile. “If this is self discovery, why am I coming?”

“ _ Because _ , Riz, I need accountability and a witness. I am aiming to do great things on this trip and someone has to be there, or they didn’t happen.”

“That’s not how things work.” Riz interjects.

“Tell that to the tree in the forest.” Fabian shoots back with a smile. “Anyways. I figured you’d be good company - so, enough complaining. Yes or no?”

Riz sighs, and it rattles in his chest. He takes a long sip of the coffee he still holds. “Now? I have to decide now?”

“Now or never.” Fabian grins. There’s hope in his expression that Riz knows him well enough to recognise instinctively, no aspects of a detective needed. This is something important to him, like when Riz goes to Bloodrush games, or his first dance recital. Riz can’t help that he has the mind of a logician - he likes order, and plans, and structure. This is all not that.

But he  _ is  _ Fabian’s best friend. Self appointed, but reciprocated. And he’s being asked to do something that, arguably, any of the other Bad Kids could be better suited for. Adaine is the smartest of them, Gorgug is another of Fabian’s closest friends and maybe more fun, Kristen is down for anything and quite frankly, Riz is surprised that Fig isn’t the mastermind behind this all.

But Fabian chose him. And that must mean something.

“Fine.” He answers, after a pause. He finds himself smiling. “Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Fabian pumps the air with his fist in victory and Riz has to look away from that smile of his - too bright, like looking at the sun. There are undeniable facts in Riz’s life and his budding (budded. bloomed. already in full swing.) crush on Fabian is one of them. It’s confusing and maybe just a bit self-destructive, at first, considering some of the boy’s earlier treatment of him -  _ the Ball _ nickname, the teasing, so on and so forth. But for every moment like that, there’s ten more of Fabian being kind in the way that’s so very  _ his _ . The chandelier swing from confident to timid in his acts of kindness - the willingness to drive a boat into hell and risk death for him in sophomore year, for example, compared to the nervousness and retreat to anonymity in simply buying gifts for the Bad Kids.

But that’s something to unpack later.

For now, Riz follows in the footfalls of Fabian’s pounding steps out of the apartment and towards the Hangman. He keeps pace as best he can and really, it’s not quite fair that he has to considering the difference in height and length of step, but he succeeds.

As Fabian rounds a corner down another flight of stairs, he stops abruptly. “Do you have all scrying blocks on your crystal?”

“What do you take me for? An idiot?” Riz rolls his eyes with a sigh. Of  _ course  _ he’s protected against scrying.

“Okay, okay! I just thought I’d check, the Ball, there’s no need to be rude!” Fabian laughs, jovial against the bluntness, and continues downstairs. The ringing sense of excitement hasn’t left his ears and at the ground level, he stops at the door to hold it open for Riz, who proceeds through with another roll of his eyes. The Hangman lets out a rev of the engine, as if it’s about to speak, to which Fabian shoots it a sharp look that lets the bike know to stay quiet. 

Like routine, because it practically  _ is  _ routine at this point, Riz hops onto the back of the bike and holds back a mumble about the continuous lack of helmets worn while riding it. And, yes, they’ve been in  _ much  _ worse situations and road safety seems like it should be the very least of his concerns, but the voice of Sklonda Gukgak appears, near-godly in his mind, tutting at him for his carelessness. In more ways than one, that instinct of self-preservation that Riz feels is owed to his parents more than out of genuine concern for his own safety. Sure, he’d love to see his dad more, but dying isn’t the way to go about it, not with his mom still happily situated on the mortal plane.

Fabian, of course, hops onto the front of the bike and pats the handlebars proudly. “Well, to Bastion City, if you will, Hangman!”

He commands it with a smile obvious in his voice and even as Riz moves to grip onto the bike for safety, he can’t help but smile too. Meanwhile, in the echoing of Fabian’s mind, adrenaline and anxiety overlap and confuse each other, swaying like a tightrope walker from one to the other - especially as Riz speaks to him with a question he’d expected, and still had not yet prepared an answer for. “Why Bastion City?”

“Well,” comes the response, with a pause for thought disguised as a pause for dramatic effect. Because… there’s no  _ why _ . There just  _ is _ . The compass in Fabian’s heart is telling him that’s the right way to go, and who is he to argue? But to explain that gets close to the sentimental, and that’s one step away for the other reasons for this trip: a desire to get away, get out of Elmville, to drive and keep driving.

Maybe part of the reason Fabian takes Riz, he realises, in that moment and that moment alone, is so he has reason to return after all.

“Well?” Riz prompts.

“Well!” He clears his throat as the bike starts to move. “My goals for this endeavour are to do something  _ new _ , to do something  _ stupid  _ and to do something that  _ scares  _ me.”

Fabian feels Riz’s hands hold onto him, claws pressed against skin not so much that it hurts, but ready to scramble and grab at him when, inevitably, he decides that Fabian’s driving is taking one to many risks. Riz’s tail wraps instinctively around his own leg, something between a nervous habit and a comforting gesture. “You know, Fabian, this is all very teen movie.”

“Exactly. I’m allowed for it to be! I am almost  _ eighteen _ , Riz, and that feels  _ old _ .”

“Your mom is…  _ so _ much older than that, dude.”

“You’re missing the point. Anyway. Bastion City at dawn is something  _ new _ , and I figured it would be nice. If you have better suggestions, go ahead and share with the class.”

“No, no.” Riz laughs, one hand lifting up to shove that cap of his onto his head - which, really, it’s ridiculous he’s wearing at this hour, Fabian thinks but does not say - and the other holding tighter as they round their first corner together. “You’re the protagonist here. I’m happy to be the witty sidekick who makes sure you don’t die.”

“Charmed and honoured as always.”

And as they race through the streets, out of the winding suburbia, past the homes of their sleeping friends, their school, Basrar’s, the places their best and worst memories have been home to and out towards the wide, near-abandoned roads of the highway, they settle into a comfortable silence. Fabian feels tension leave his shoulders as Elmville is further away by the second.

He loves his hometown, he really does, but sometimes it feels like it may swallow him whole.

The wide roads towards Bastion city are far from scenic, for the most part. But on their side lies the Celestine sea, and at certain parts, the highway twists closer to the coast and you can catch a glimpse of the endless expanse of blue. As they drive, it’s still dark. The moon is bright in the sky in the cloudless night, and the stars shine down on them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, as if the information were stored in a dusty old box in the back corner of an attic, Fabian knows a lot about the stars. He knows how sailors used them as guides to take them home, to find comfort in the shores before departing once again on the unruly waves. Tonight, Fabian doesn’t think about that, even with the ever-present echo of his father’s voice in his mind.

He is not a sailor. He is a boy on a bike, with his friend behind him. And for tonight, Fabian declares to himself in silence, the words only his mind, being a boy on his bike will be enough.

The stars are not a guidance for him, but they’re a pretty sight. Eventually, after an hour or so of silent travel in which he’s sure Riz almost falls asleep, if the weight of a head against his back is anything to go by, as the stars up above begin to break away to make room for the start of a new day, he can see the city on the horizon. Tall buildings indicative of a bigger world than Elmville stand out against the breaking of day. They reach towards the sky like mountains and somehow, in their glass and steel and man-made splendor, it’s the city that widens his horizons, rather than all they’ve seen on their travels. They’ve been to pirate cities and magic forests and seen and done so much, but there’s something about the city that’s special to him. Countless people from countless walks of life, all in one place, together and apart at the same time.

As they get closer, the streets still deserted at this time - 4:47am, too early for most of those who have to be at their jobs at dawn, but too late for most partygoers to be stumbling through the streets after eventful nights - Fabian speaks to Riz. “There’s a diner here.”

“Don’t call the.. What was it? Swan’s party? That awful place, whatever it’s called, it’s not a diner.”

“I don’t mean  _ The Swan’s Little Parade _ , Riz,” Fabian scoffs, clearly affronted at the suggestion that he’d mistake it for a diner. “Another place. I’ve been once, when I was young. With Cathilda.”

He adds the last bit almost as an afterthought, but it’s key to explaining the situation in Riz’s mind. He can’t imagine either Bill or Hallariel at a diner, and, admittedly, struggles to imagine either of them spending much quality time with Fabian as a whole, especially when he was younger. Of course, he doesn’t say that.

“Cool. Wait - is a 24 hour place?”

“Of course it is. I did do  _ some  _ planning for this impulsive trip.”

“That kind of defeats the point of it being impulsive.”

A hand reaches back around and gives Riz a light slap on the arm, one designed not to hurt. Riz laughs and slaps back, knowing he couldn’t do much damage to Fabian even if he wanted to. He hears rather than sees Fabian’s smile. “Shut up. I thought the planning would soothe you.”

“Adaine’s the neat-freak for plans more than I am. She’s got this super complicated schedule system that’s got four different systems of colour coding. She’s the anxious one,  _ I  _ am, admittedly, the paranoid one. There’s a difference.” Riz counters. He doesn’t address the idea that Fabian did something, no matter how small, to  _ soothe  _ him, lest he start spiralling. They’ve hardly been travelling an hour, and he’s sure this is a full day endeavour.

Fabian snorts a laugh before he replies. “That’s just different names for the same thing, the Ball.”

“Pft, whatever. Anyways. Sure, I’m down for a diner. Is that.. Is that the something new?”

Fabian pauses for a moment. He hadn’t thought of that. In his mind, the  _ new  _ thing was where they are now - on the largest road through the city, the one right through the middle, where you pass the tallest office buildings and concert halls and huge tower block buildings with tall windows for those that live there to watch the people on the ground pass by, the size of ants from so high above. He thought the adventure was in the cinematic sunrise in front of them, so beautiful that he understands all the poetry about it and the worship of the sun, maybe more so than he could ever believe in the stars. But as much as he hates to admit it, Riz might have a point.

His intention was for the new to be bold and exciting, not… mundane. Something taken for granted. A meal in a normal place with normal people, albeit at an abnormal time. Fabian Seacaster should  _ struggle  _ to find new things to do, for all his wealth and riches and privilege that his last name affords to him. New to Fabian should be new to the world, in material terms, a brand new crystal on the first day of it’s release. It should be new and exciting, like this is, zooming down the road, something that provides a jolt of adrenaline rushing through the body. New shouldn’t be what everyone else has.

New shouldn’t be a reminder that he’s one of the last people his age to get it - a comforting mundane experience.

He brushes the question off with a too-hearty laugh.

“ _ No _ , it’s not the  _ diner _ , the Ball.” He scoffs. He realises he used Riz’s nickname just a second ago, that the repetition sounds stilted. He presses onwards. “No, of course not. That’s just for… a pitstop, of course. The  _ new  _ is this. This drive. So - well - let’s enjoy it. And be quiet.”

It ends up more biting than he intended, a sharp left turn of the conversation of mere moments ago, and internally, Fabian scolds himself as Riz goes quiet with a huff of “ _ okay, whatever you say.” _ It’s not in the tone it used to be (quiet, reserved, scared - Fabian hated that Riz ever felt even a bit of fear, even despite the constant clarification his hesitation was with  _ everyone _ , came from a place of complete lack of friendship experience, rather than a fear of Fabian himself), but is instead snappy, tired. Understanding still, somehow. The same vein of sarcasm that Cathilda seems to cut from sometimes, when Fabian’s quick-tongue and slow-thinking has led him to use harsh words with her, too.

Fabian realises as he tightens his grip on the uncharacteristically quiet hangman’s handlebars that it’s a tone used from loved ones who don’t appreciate how they’ve been treated, but are trying their hardest to understand. It’s not the coddling hands that he’s used to, but he’s been realising of late that maybe that’s just for the best.

Riz, meanwhile, frowns at Fabian’s back. He’s not angry. He’s slow to anger with his friends, although often quick to annoyance. Riz believes himself to be one of the few people on the planet with a better glimpse inside the inner workings of Fabian Seacaster’s mind, and he can hazard a vague guess at the root cause of the tone Fabian bit at him with, out of nowhere. The pinboard in his mind – the way he organises his thoughts best – hasn’t found the exact specifics, but he can place a half-decent guess at the idea of  _ childhood  _ and  _ family  _ and comparisons. Comparisons are something he knows a lot about, too.

Part of him wants to call Fabian a dick and chastise him for lashing out again when he should know how many people would be there to talk to him at the drop of a hat. Part of him wants to hug Fabian in silence and say that he gets the anger – not the cause, but the feeling.

Instead he enjoys the  _ new  _ agenda of Fabian’s plan because it’s new for him, too. Riz is somewhere between lucky and stupid enough to see many sunrises over Elmville, more often than not because he’s not yet slept, rather than for the fact of him being an early riser. Despite grey and rainy mornings where there’s less of a sunrise and more of a shifting of monochrome perhaps being a better match for his noir aesthetic, paper sprawled across the floor and a cold cup of coffee on his desk, his favourites are sunsets of technicolour. Many mornings have been spent staring distracted out a window, a break from the work he burdens himself with, a moment to look at life as though it’s a movie and he is the audience, rather than a bug wrapped up in reality’s spider web.

And even if he is annoyed right now, he thanks Fabian inside his head – this morning's sunrise is especially beautiful, and the wind pushing past them makes him feel more awake and alive than he has in a very long time, accented by the echoing tinge of concern (instinctive, as if sensing danger before it comes) burns in the pit of his stomach.

After a while, the diner Fabian had mentioned appears in view, and Fabian slows speed quickly to take the twisting down a secluded sideroad on the way outside of Bastion city after having driven the straight road through the main stretch. It’s the strange space between city and road where it looks like the landscapes fight each other for dominance, the city taking over the land and the land trying to keep it’s space. The diner is illuminated in neon, disrupting the gentle morning light with harsh neon tones that are hard to look at for too long without squinting or turning away. The sign in front of it is large and flickers at intervals, reading  _ First and Last: 24 Hour Diner _ in neon red and purple. The building itself seems worn at the edges but in a way that’s either charming or just well disguised, and as expected, it’s completely abandoned by all but one car in the front, presumably that of whatever poor soul is stuck working this time of day.

Fabian is the first to break the silence between the two of them as the sputtering of the bike dies. He clears his throat once, twice, as though coughing up the words he wants to say from his chest. “I’m sorry for calling you stupid.” He says, quiet and staring at the ground as he dismounts. He looks up after a beat, his face set firm and in the lines of his expression, Riz can practically hear Bill Seacaster telling him to man up. “Would you like me to buy you a milkshake?”

Riz smiles, just the slightest. “If you get me coffee, too, it’s all forgotten.”

Fabian either follows Riz’s lead or is tempted over to the side of joy, and Riz doesn’t quite care which as he sees a dimple indicative of a hidden smile appear on Fabian’s left cheek. “I’d say that’s a fair deal. I’m starving, so let’s go.”

The inside of the diner is exactly what you’d expect from the outside – barstools of a deep red and booths of the same colour with squeaky clean tables between couch-style chairs. The walls are packed with memorabilia from around Solace, number plates and post cards and merchandise of the great bands and bards of the area. The music is on quietly as only one member of staff stands behind the door, cleaning a glass in a way that suggests she’s been cleaning it for the sake of doing something rather than intending to clean, considering it’s spotless nature. The woman at the bar is an older fire genasi looking woman, long, flaming hair down her back flickering dimly and she wears a pinafore with enamel pins dotted alongside of it, each seemingly holding their own story.

Riz is almost tempted to ask about them, but Fabian speaks first.

“Good morning!” He announces loud and cheerful with the same confidence he puts into every intonation as he speaks. “Are you serving, currently?”

“We’re a 24 hour diner, sweetheart.” The woman replies with a tone that adds a silent  _ duh _ onto her response, and Riz is sure Fabian is flustered just the slightest. He notices by the twitch of a pointed ear - an objective thing to notice, something for a private detective to notice, not because he watches Fabian with far too much attention at most times. “We’re always serving. You two go choose a table, there’s menus on them. Shout me over when you know what you want.”

They do so with differing degrees of happiness - there’s a certain unintelligible mumble coming from Fabian as he chooses a corner booth, one that brings a smile to Riz’s lips that he doesn’t let Fabian see. The boys sit on opposite sides from each other, the red cushion squeaking as they do so. The seats are cold but it’s easily the best booth in the bar, in Riz’s mind at least. Fabian can see out the window and keep an eye on the Hangman and Riz can see Fabian, the front of his view taken up by the boy in front of him but the background showing the full scope of the diners’ decorations. He takes a moment to take them in before he speaks.

“So, what’s the plan after this?” He questions. Fabian is already inspecting the menu, far too large for such a small establishment.

“We’ll figure that out as we get to it.” He puts the menu down as quickly as he began looking at it, apparently content with his choice. Riz takes it in the silence and picks quickly - not that there was ever much doubt clouding his usual order from these sorts of places - and nods to Fabian.

“Okay.” He agrees, trying not to show the reluctance he is so close to letting himself feel. This is part of the plan. The plan to not have a plan. It’s going to be fine, he reassures himself, as a click-clack of heels echoes across the floor as Fabian manages to make eye contact with the waitress.

“What can I get you boys, then?” She asks. Her tone is less than interested. Riz doesn’t blame her. Fabian doesn’t seem to notice.   


“I’ll take a milkshake - chocolate, please - and pancakes with bacon. I noticed you don’t have kippers -” Riz shoots him a look, pointed. “What? Okay, fine, fine, you’re right. Not the time or place. I’ll leave it. Yes. A chocolate milkshake.”

“And for you?” She turns to face Riz. He notices the name on her badge -  _ Charlotte. _ Makes a mental note, just in case. A normal thing to do. Not paranoia.

“Oh, uh. A vanilla milkshake, please. And, uh. Yeah. A black coffee. Strong as you can make it, please. Thanks. No food for me.” He offers a tentative smile before offering the menu to Charlotte. She nods at him, mumbles something along the lines of “ _ coming right up”,  _ makes a swift turn on her heel and disappears back behind the bar.

A moment later there’s a  _ click  _ of a stereo and old-timey rock starts to drift through the building. Fabian scoffs softly with a roll of his eyes, but as he looks around, Riz is sure he catches something in them akin to wonderment.

“So… this really is one of your first times somewhere like this?” He asks. There’s extra effort put into not sounding judgemental because he really  _ isn’t _ , but he knows Fabian’s buttons are easy to push, even accidentally. Especially regarding his childhood, the childhood he only just seems to be realising was quite abnormal.

“Yes.” It’s somewhat blunt but it softens quickly when he realises he’s done it again. A soft notch appears at his brow, an internal telling-off. “Yes,” softer. “It’s quite nice, isn’t it? In a gritty, grimy sort of endearing way. Not that it's  _ dirty _ , but, well. Lower maintenance. Is that how I should phrase it?”

“I guess.” Riz leans further back into the red cushion. “I used to go places like this with my dad.” He admits without meaning as he looks at a poster of someone holding a guitar in the air. “I.. Sorry. I don’t mean to rub that in, or anything. Or to assume that that’s me rubbing it in, but, you know. Knowing what I know. And you know… I’ll be quiet with this.”

“No, no, the Ball.” Fabian chuckles, to Riz’s surprise. It does nothing to dull the burning in his cheeks. “Tell me more.”

That shocks Fabian somewhat, even as he says it. He’s prone to jealousy when he doesn’t have what he wants, with the luxury his life has afforded to him getting him far too used to having what he wants, when he wants it. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want what Riz has - the happy memories, the doting father. But he doesn’t feel bitter, or even as though he’s trying to live through his memories.

He realises to himself in the quiet moment between sentences that he just would like to hear this, if it’s from Riz. If the others aren’t there to make a scene, to be loud and to distract. And he thinks he might know why - because for all the others may have had problems with their family, none of them have had a parent  _ die  _ on them, the way he and Riz have.

The shock it gives to Riz, too, isn’t well hidden. Fabian can’t blame him. He’s never been the greatest listener, and here he is, offering an ear. It’s worth it for the way that a nervous smile flickers across Riz’s face before growing stronger, nostalgic.

“Well. We’d come to places like this after going on drives. We’d do that, sometimes, just drive around. We couldn’t do all the fancy shit, like the restaurants you like, or holidays, or… whatever else rich people do. But a place like this did sandwiches and milkshakes cheap, we’d both get one, and we’d talk. Especially after he’d been away a while.”

“When Papa came back from a trip, he’d ask me if I’d behaved and clip me around the head if I had, or if I hadn’t.” Fabian laughs. Riz doesn’t.

“I’m… sorry?”

“Why?”

“Your dad shouldn’t have been rough with you, dude.” Riz answers. 

“It’s just how he was.” Fabian shrugs, knowing it doesn’t quite excuse it, if only from the cocked eyebrow Riz gives him. “It’s… strange. To talk about him. How he was, in full. The good and the bad. I miss him. And… if it isn’t too much to admit, the Ball, I am also incredibly mad at him. More so the more I think about it.”

A nervous habit is spotted then, a sharp tooth biting over Riz’s lip. Fabian notices his own noticing of that. Riz clears his throat before speaking. “No, I mean… okay, fuck it, if this is an adventure or whatever we’re calling it, can I just be honest without you being pissed at me?”

A bubble of laughter escapes Fabian quickly then. “Oh, gods. Okay. Yes, since you asked so nicely. Do your worst.”

The other boy nods. “Sure, I’ll take that as a challenge - “ Riz pauses in his speech to thank Charlotte, who either approached  _ much  _ quieter this time, or Riz was more distracted looking right at Fabian than he thought he was. Service is quick when there’s no other customers, that’s for sure. “Okay, uh. Well. I’m just fucking surprised you weren’t mad at him earlier, dude. He sucked.”

“He did.” Fabian agrees faster than Riz would have expected. Something tells him that Fabian has thought this for a while and been waiting to say it. “I just didn’t see. And now I do, and he’s dead, so it feels somewhat redundant to be mad at him. Hell, I feel mad at the man for dying, and that was hardly his fault, for once.”

There’s a pause for just a second as Riz watches the steam rise from his coffee, caught in the light for a moment as it swirls, and he considers saying something, tossing the thought in his head like juggling. “I… I think that’s normal. Or at least, it was normal for me. I was so fucking pissed that my dad died, and left just me and my mom. I was really, really angry at him. It sucks to hurt and have nobody to blame it on. So… yeah. Sometimes all of that just gets turned into being really pissed off.”

“Oh.” Fabian nearly chokes on his pancake for a second. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Not many people do - like, what sort of conversation would that be? Hi, I’m Riz, my dad died a super freakin’ heroic death and I was still pissed off about it.  _ Not _ a great way to make friends.”

“You’re talking to me about it.” Fabian points out.

“Well, yeah, you’re different.” Riz grumbles, heat once again rising to his cheeks. If he wasn’t as acquainted as he is to Fabian’s mannerisms, he’d think the boy was impartial to this. But there’s a slight twitch of the ear, a crease by his eyes, indicating that he did hear it. “I mean. Gods. I don’t know. You get it more. We’re part of the world's shittiest club. The fuckin’ dead dad’s club. Sorry about your membership, I guess.”

Fabian laughs again, louder this time, a scoff and a roll of his eyes and there’s a smile he maybe should feel for having, but he can’t bring himself to. “Thank you for the condolences.” He grins wickedly as he sees Riz cringe at the realisation of what he said. He puts down the fork he was using to demolish food between words and picks up the cool glass holding his milkshake instead. “Shall we cheers to the club we both hate to be in?”

“You suck. You suck so bad.” Riz laughs, his tone not holding half the bite that he wishes he could put into it.

“And I’m paying for your drinks.” No change - the boy in front of him shakes his head, unimpressed. “ _ And  _ I’m your best friend.”

_ That  _ does it.

Fabian knows that it's the first time he’s called himself Riz’s best friend aloud. He knows, too, that he used the joke to mask it, the genuine admission of affection. The third and final thing he knows is that Riz knows he means it, from the look in the boy’s eyes - he can read him that well, at least, to see the gentle look of appreciative surprise.

“Fine, asshole.” Riz picks up his glass, raises it, chuckles as they clink together with an echoing  _ ting!  _ that fills the diner at once. “Cheers to the dead dad’s club.”

“May they rest in peace, or in pieces.”

“Here, here.” Another roll of the eyes, but they’re  _ both  _ smiling now, stupid and boyish and ear to ear. Dimples and creases by the eyes and the sort of smile that makes eating the food just a little bit harder. The sort of moment that makes their stupid silent scuffle just half an hour ago seem just that -  _ stupid _ .

The rest of the meal is spent in the same manner, the two chatting back and forth, playful banter and heartfelt conversations in between. When they’re finished, Fabian pays, as promised. He tips  _ well _ , an amount that makes Riz’s eyes go wide, and a little sense of pride settle in his stomach as Fabian makes no deal of it at all. He’s always been like that, he remembers, his love shown in the material sense, like the surprise gifts from their first year at Aguefort.

It takes about 30 minutes of searching on Fabian’s crystal for them to decide their next destination - a road leading out of Bastion city goes straight towards one of the area's finest tourist traps.

“This. This is where we’re going. It’s stupid and pointless and I want to see it.” He places the device on the table, facing Riz, who assesses it for a moment before letting a smile spread across his face.

“The graffiti board they put up? Jeeeez. I mean, yeah, I guess it’s stupid. What, was dancing not enough? We gotta leave some art, too?” He teases. He loves the idea, though, not that he’d admit it.

“I said I was worried about not leaving my mark on the world, Riz. And now I can - even briefly - in cheap spray paint. I am going to write my name in full. In gold. Or, well, something. Whatever they have at the nearest store.” He grins wide, eyes flashing bright. A thought about art and Fabian passes through Riz’s mind and he swats it away internally as though it were a fly.

“Fine. Sure. Yeah, I’ll write  _ Riz was here too, but nobody ever remembers that bit _ on the bottom in sharpie.”

They leave the diner with a wave to Charlotte, who doesn’t so much as wave back but nod in their direction, and Fabian strolls to the Hangman with pride.

“Next stop right away, then?” He asks Riz. It’s a question, this time, rather than the instruction from a few hours ago.

This time, Riz doesn't even ponder his answer: “Duh. Let’s go.”

\---

By the time the Bad Kids know that Fabian and Riz are missing, they’re 80mph down a highway en route to their next destination.

Back at home, in Elmville, all hell is breaking loose.

It was early morning when Skloda Gukgak realised Riz was not in his bed, or in his office, or anywhere else. It was about fifteen minutes maximum post that initial realisation that Sklonda had realised through clues littering the apartment (intentional or not, she couldn’t be sure), that Riz had left on purpose. Not alone. And potentially for a while.

Without a note.

Now that wouldn’t do.

It was approximately two minutes after that realisation that she had called the Seacaster household (because  _ of course _ he was with Fabian - small shoe marks on her carpet, and the fact her boy had something of a soft spot for that one particular member of his friendship group) and gotten through to Cathilda, because of course she wasn’t going to waste time in a potentially dangerous situation talking to Hallariel.

It was just unfortunate that at the same time Cathilda put her crystal onto speaker mode, Fig knocked on the door and was greeted by Gilear, who was not loud enough to drown out the conversation.

From then, it was about 15 minutes before most of the Bad Kids had assembled at Mordred Manor, Fig having phoned them while skateboarding at potentially life-threatening speeds, organising a team meeting minus one entire third of their team.

Considering two of the three people she had to contact live  _ at  _ Mordred Manor, and the other has a car, it shouldn’t have taken a further 12 minutes for Kristen to assemble outside in front of the Hangvan, but her excuse was she was calling Tracker to update her on the news.

“This is important, Kristen! Riz and Fabian have gone off on a mission or something  _ without  _ us. This isn’t like them. Fabian would have told me!” Fig paces back and forth in front of the van, platformed boots stomping heavy against the gravel.

“I mean, it  _ could _ be nothing…” Adaine says, unsure even as she speaks, before contradicting herself completely. “No, no, you’re right. Riz would probably have told me. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, man.” Kristen adds in as she ties her hair up into a ponytail, carding her fingers through thick ginger curls. “I don’t know. I feel like at least  _ one  _ of them woulda mentioned it to me - they know I like impromptu trips!”

“Wait,” Gorgug interjects, brows furrowed. “You guys are getting told things?”

“UGH.” Fig’s groan is loud enough to echo as she places a palm flat against the hangvan. “We gotta try find them. This could be important. Or if it’s not, then I gotta kick their asses for scaring us.  _ And  _ not inviting us! I mean, it’s rude! We’re an adventuring party. We adventure as a party, it’s in the dang name!”

“So, we’re… following them? But we don’t know where they went.” Adaine asks.

“See, dude, that’s where you’re wrong!” In one quick motion, Fig spins to point a finger at the other girl, her eyes glowing with something that tells the others that this isn’t just a mission of genuine concern. There’s a certain  _ excitement  _ there. “I heard Sklonda say that Riz left a  _ clue _ . She’s not sure if it was on purpose - knowing him, probably was. He left his laptop open on a picture of the road leading up to Bastion City. So that’s where we’re going.”

“And I’m guessing I’m driving?” Gorgug lets out a little sigh, scratching the back of his head, but his lips pull up into a little smile. 

“Bingo. Let’s freakin go, guys! It could be important.  _ Or _ , it could just be fun! A road trip!” She’s practically bouncing on her feet now, grinning ear to ear as she raises her eyebrows at the others in front of her.

There’s a moment’s pause, the other three teens taking a moment to look at one another, then Fig, then one another once more. Kristen speaks first.

“Okay, fuck it. Yeah. Just in case it’s something serious.  _ And  _ because Tracker said her road trip was super good for her, like, whole self. This could be good!” She nods, affirming her own point. “That’s two people. That’s basically a majority.”

“It’s… it’s exactly half, Kristen.” Adaine sighs, moving her glasses down her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. “But yes. Fine. I don’t exactly trust the two of them alone. Hell, I don’t trust any of us alone. We need the whole six to have at least a partial chance of thinking properly. Fine. Yes. Gorgug?”

“Sure.” He shrugs in response, clicking the button on the Hangvan’s keys that sets the engine whirring, and a familiar voice greets them again with a quiet ‘ _ heeeey guys’ _ before he continues. “I don’t have any  _ other  _ plans. Lets go.”

In total, then, it’s less than an hour between the discovery of the missing Bad Kids and the remaining four heading out on the road to track them down. The drive up to Bastion City is as taxing as  _ most  _ journeys are with the four of them - bickering arguments that escalate in volume as four voices try to talk over each other, giggling and shouting at everything and nothing at all.

The cheer does die down, slightly, however, as they realise that from Bastion city they have not one hint of an idea where to go.

“Uh… shit. You know, it’s times like this that having the freaking  _ detective _ of the group would be useful.” Fig complains as Gorgug starts his fourth lap around the main streets of the city, looking for any and all hints.

“And we’ve super tried ringing them?” Kristen asks. She’s not exactly helping look herself, instead stretched out across four seats, laying and staring at the ceiling, casting a light cantrip from hand to hand.

“Super tried it.” Gorgug sighs, chewing on his lip.

“Scrying wards on everything.” Adaine leans her head out the window further, squinting at the road signs. “Paranoid as ever. And Fabian clearly  _ not  _ wanting to be found, or… well… someone not wanting us to find him. But probably the first option, right?”

“Right.” Fig reaches to give Adaine’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I text Ayda, but she’ll be super busy. She always is, which sucks, but  _ god _ I have the coolest fuckin’ girlfriend - this is off topic, sorry, right. Okay. Uh. Shit. Drive round again.”

It’s nothing more than pure luck and Fabian’s bad driving skills that the four of them ever actually get a hint of the trail that the boys left on. It’s their tenth look around the city when Kristen is finally paying enough attention to spot something, yelling  _ “STOP! HARD LEFT!”  _ at the top of her lungs, an instruction that Gorgug listens to with only a brief moment of collective screaming and about 12% risk of death.

“What the fuck was that, Kristen?!! Adaine yells, clutching Boggy close to her chest as he makes his  _ didn’t like that very much  _ face.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry. But look!” She points out the window. Tire marks on the ground, indicative of someone on a motorbike taking a corner far too quickly. “Shitty driving. That’s gotta be the Hangman, right? They weren’t at the shitty little duck, or whatever. This is as good as a lead we have.”

Fig’s face lights up and she shuffles across the seats - the Hangvan scolds her softly about road safety, which she ignores - and holds Kristen’s face in her hands, smacking a kiss to her forehead that leaves a lipstick mark over her freckles. “You really are a fuckin saint, Applebees! This is something. C’mon, park up, lets go.”

Gorgug takes his time parking up the van, now in a busier car park with the rush of morning commuters. The lights still flicker and as the teens get out the car, they stand together in front of the building with the sudden realisation that they don’t exactly have a  _ plan _ from now on. After a few moments, all eyes fall to Adaine.

“What? What are you all looking at  _ me  _ for? No, stop it.” She crosses her arms over her chest defensively, shaking her head, insight alone enough to tell her where this is going.

Kristen takes a step closer. “Listen, Adaine. Out of all of us, you’re most like him. You guys did that detecting type stuff back when we were in Leviathan. So it just makes  _ sense  _ that you take the lead.”

“This was Fig’s plan! I’m not in charge of the plan!”

“It’s a  _ group _ plan.” Gorgug interjects, voice kinder than Kristen’s, but just as insistent. “And this is your time to shine! And Kristen will go in with you.”

At once, Kristen and Adaine echo a similar statement: “will I!?”

“Will she?!”

“Yeah!” Fig’s eyes are shining again, the flickers of hell practically jumping out in the form of sparks of excitement. “Gorgug’s right. We’re famous, they might know us. We gotta lay low. Plus, you two are cuter! Like, c’mon, Kristen is wearing dungarees. You got your cute bookish glasses on. They’ll warm to you like they’re hot butter and you’re a knife.”

“It’s a hot knife and butter, not hot butter, Fig.” Adaine corrects, once again pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Whatever. Go! Shoo! Or the trail will go cold!” Fig makes a shooing motion with her hands and Gorgug gives a supportive thumbs up as the two girls look at each other, shrug, and turn towards the diner before entering - Adaine more reluctantly than Kristen, of course.

Now, it’s busier. People fill the chairs that were empty hours prior. There’s a smell of fresh breakfast food and coffee wafting through the place and servers of all shapes and sizes speed about, dealing with the morning rush. People sit on their own, reading papers, presumably grabbing food before rushing to their office jobs. Families sit together with young children babbling away, shoving fistfulls of food into their little faces. Couples gaze at each other over steaming pots of coffee.

“This is awesome.” Kristen says, as if to herself. “And now i’m hungry.”

“No getting distracted.” Adaine sighs, and she’s disappointed to realise that this is why she  _ has  _ to be the one to do this - the only one with focus enough to actually complete this mission. “Come on.”

She grabs Kristen by the wrist and drags her up to the front counter, shifting herself to sit on the little red stools and sit patiently, waiting for a server to come to her.

Until, of course, Kristen sits next to her, slamming her hand down on the little silver bell at the bar.

“Kristen!” She hisses.

“Shush, it’ll work - see, they’re coming!”

Adaine sighs loudly in shock that Kristen consistently gets away with things like this. It’s endearing in the worst of ways. She was right though, as a waitress appears in front of them, notepad in hand. “How can I help you girls?”   


“Hi, ma’am. Sorry, this is a bit of a weird question, but we were wondering if you could help us find our friends. They ran off last night and we can’t get in contact with them, but we think they might have been here. Probably a few hours ago, we reckon.” Adaine smiles her politest smile and elbows Kristen subtly so that she does the same.

The waitress cocks an eyebrow and asses the two of them slowly for a moment before coming to the conclusion she isn’t being pranked. She sighs softly. “Okay. Sure. I’ll talk to the waitress who was on shift then - what did they look like?”

“A pretty half-elf kid with an eye patch, and a lil goblin dude who probably ordered coffee.” Kristen spins side to side slightly on her chair as she speaks. “Probably making goo-goo eyes at the guy. Oh, also, a demon motorbike, but I don’t think he’d have come into the diner.”   


If it were possible, the waitress’ eyebrows would rise further, but they seem to be as high as they can get. She shakes her head slightly. “Right. Okay, thanks, honey. I’ll go talk to Char.”

“Thank you!” The girls echo in unison.

Adaine turns to Kristen then. She’s smirking, and Adaine can’t help but smile fondly. “You’re really going to call Riz out like that when he can’t defend himself?”

“Always, Ads.”

“I thought we agreed no nickname.”

“ _ You _ agreed no nickname.”

“I can’t stand you.” She shoves Kristen lightly before turning her attention back in front of her, attentive eyes scanning from person to person. Her hand taps on her legs and Kristen knows her mind is running a mile a minute. “What do you reckon they’re actually doing, Kristen?”

“Heli- wait, no, I mean _ Cassandra  _ knows. God confusion, it happens. But, uh… I mean… I think we’d  _ know  _ if it were bad. Like, I think I’d  _ feel  _ it. And I think Fig knows that, too, but it’s still  _ weird  _ that they left without us.” She pauses for a moment. “I kinda think we’re doing this more out of nosiness, I guess.”

“Hm.” Adaine’s reply comes, and a longer pause follows. “Yeah. That kinda makes sense. I don’t have a  _ bad _ gut feeling, more just… confused.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Her voice is softer and she pats Adaine on the arm as she sees a woman approaching.

The woman smiles at them tiredly, fire hair flickering softly. “Hey, you two are the ones looking for your friends, right?”

“Yes! Yes, you must be Char, right?” Adaine asks with a smile, equally hopeful and polite.

“That’s me. I’m not sure how much help I can be to you - but I might be able to give you a bit of a clue.” She smiles as she takes her apron off, folding it absentmindedly as she talks to them. “They were in here early, only people in the building. I think I heard them talking about a road trip.”

“Did you catch where they were heading?” Kristen asks, eyes gleaming with hope.

“I think they mentioned that big ol’ tourist trap just out of the city. You know, the big board thing? Every artist type goes there to make some big statement. But if they went there, they’ll be  _ well  _ past it by now. Maybe even headed home, to save you kids some stress.” She sighs softly as she puts a hand on the counter, clearly tired from her shifts’ work. “But if you’re set on following them, that’s where I’d go. They didn’t seem in any bad way, though, if that’s any comfort to you.”

“It is, thank you.” Adaine nods politely and at that, as if she’d been waiting for the slightest cue it was okay to leave, Char nods back and turns out of view with a soft, “good luck!” shouted back over her shoulder.

Adaine turns to Kristen with a relieved smile. “If they stopped for breakfast, they’re not in danger. They’re just off on something. So we could turn back.”

“We  _ could _ …” Kristen parrots, but a wicked grin is spreading across her face. In the twitching of the corners of her lips, Adaine feels it infecting her, too.

“But we’re not going to, are we?”

“Nope!” At that, Kristen jumps down from her seat and pulls Adaine with her, marching triumphantly out of the diner. The doorbell rings as they go and the chattering disappears behind the door with a  _ thud _ . “Alright, listen up! We’ve got our next destination - Artists Boardwalk - right up the highway. They’re not in, like,  _ mortal  _ danger, but we’re following them.”

Gorgug starts slightly, head in the clouds until Kristen’s announcement. He tilts his head to the side, fringe flopping with it. “Wait - so they’re fine, but we’re following them?”

Fig takes no time to jump on board. “Yeah! Duh. If they’re not in danger, then they made plans without us. And sure, we’re not a unit that always needs to be together, but,  _ rude _ . Or  _ interesting _ , depending on how you wanna look at it. But it’s gone from a rescue mission to a  _ fun _ one.”

Gorgug remains, for lack of a better word, unimpressed. Fig takes a step closer to him, placing hands on his forearms and tilting her head to look up at him with a  _ devilish  _ grin, platform boots still not even making a dent in their height difference. “Are you not even a little bit curious as to why they’re off on their own? It’s kinda sus, if you ask me.”

“They’re just hanging out.” Gorgug replies, tiredly, albeit with a fondness in his voice. “And if we follow them, Fabian’s gonna throw a fit.”

Like clockwork, Fig’s new strategy clicks together in her mind. The bait of curiosity isn’t working, but she has a feeling this just might: “Okay. And don’t you  _ wanna  _ see that?”

A pause.

A badly disguised laugh.

A smile.

Hook, line and sinker - she’s got the captain of the ship (or, van, since nobody else can drive), on board. “Fine. Okay, yeah, sure, that’s kinda funny. He’d throw a fit if we did a roadtrip without him. And we kinda need to make sure him and Riz don’t kill each other.”

There’s a hoot of laughter from Kristen as Gorgug turns to unlock the Hangvan once more, whose engine starts up with a comforting rumble. “It won’t be  _ killing  _ that we have to worry about.”

A chorus of  _ ew’s  _ echo throughout, mixed with laughter and the sound of an impressed high-five from Fig as the four teens clamber back into their car, and in a moment, they’re swinging hard out of the car park and tearing down the road in the search for their missing friends - now motivated not out of worry, but nosiness, and the desire for adventure that’s not just at the root of their bonds, but at the root of each of their souls.

\---

Unbeknownst to them, it’s exactly the time that the Bad Kids leave their home in Elmville that Fabian and Riz pull into what can, in generous terms, be called the parking lot of the so-called  _ Artists Boardwalk.  _ It’s made of rough gravel with no lines and, as expected, is dead empty.

Fabian jumps off of his bike as soon as it’s stationary and Riz follows slower, taking his time to stare at the thing in front of him: a towering billboard, covered in every millimeter by a million different pieces of art, graffiti, scribbles, messages, penis drawings, and everything else imaginable. 

It had been originally set up as a way to reduce graffiti in the city - unsuccessful, of course, but it provides an assault on the senses for anyone driving past it now. Riz takes only a moment to make his mind up on it: he doesn’t like it. It’s too loud, too busy, and looks too much like the inside of his head (a mess) for him to care for. Luckily, it’s years after the piece’s initial installation as a blank canvas, so compared to the initial hustle and bustle of the tourist trap, it’s now dead.

“This is… well, it’s something.” Riz takes his cap off and scratches his hair before rooting around in the bag they collected, full of cans of spray paint cold to the touch.

“It is.” Fabian agrees. He’s stood at the base of the artpiece now, neck craned to look up at it and take as much of it in as possible. Riz considers telling him to take a step back to quite literally look at the big picture, but at least  _ some  _ of the spirit of this mission must have seeped into him as he shuts his mouth before he can speak.

Fabian reaches a hand out and runs his fingers along some paint on the canvas. It sticks out more than the other scribbles, textured - acrylic, he’d guess, but he was never an artist. His eyes scan over the words written all over, chuckling softly to himself.

“Wanna let me in on the joke?” Riz asks. His voice is quiet, fond. Riz examines Fabian examining the art and his heart skips a few beats when Fabian turns around to him, flashing a smile as bright as the sun settling higher into the sky. They’ve been given a beautiful day, warm but windy enough that it’s comfortable, bright blue skies above and a few white clouds dotted by the horizon.

“I think people are all much more similar than we give ourselves credit for, you know.” Fabian says, signalling Riz over with a wave of his hand. “And we are all, in my opinion, equally fucking stupid.”

“I mean, agreed, but what’s got you thinking that?” Riz walks over chuckling, standing side by side with Fabian, looking at the art up close now.

In response, Fabian points one finger at a cluster of writing on the board. By any definition, this is less an art piece, and more a communal forum of insults. Like if Fantasy Reddit were written out by hand.

_ For a good time, call 1-800-UR-MOM. _

_ Red was here & has in fact fucked your mom. _

_ If you can read this: I’ve fucked your mom. _

A lot of scribbles of the same flavour - childish insults at noone and everyone at once. Riz lets out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah, okay. I see what you mean. It’s… I don’t know, nice? In a way?”

“Jokes about sex with your mother are  _ nice?  _ Riz, you live a life of unimaginable privilege. Gilear - Fig’s  _ father  _ \- is  _ dating  _ my mother, and she still calls her hot on a basis that is far too regular for me to ever be happy with. Your mother is hot, but I think we all respect her too much to say it.” Fabian laughs, and laughs harder when Riz shoots him a look that he knows means  _ not what I meant _ .

Riz slaps his arm lightly. “You suck. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay, okay. What did you mean, then?” The question comes softly, with undivided attention. Fabian is looking at him now and he’s smiling a small smile with no cockiness - just joy and fondness. 

“I don’t know. Like you said, we’re all equally stupid. If they’d put this dumb board up here, or further south, or in Elmville, or across the world, we’d probably all write the same dumb shit. It’s nice. We’re all different, and sometimes we all fucking suck. But I guess we all laugh at the same stuff. It’s nice that there’s something tying us all together, you know? Even if its not much.” Riz’s answer is musing, tone lilting as the words come to him even as he talks, and Fabian can see the thought assembling itself inside Riz’s mind.

Fabian takes a moment to ponder it over. He smiles, small and teasing, as he replies to the musings presented to him. “I suppose it’s nice, but it makes me feel a lot worse for  _ killing  _ people.”

“Is that necessarily a bad thing?” The answer comes quicker than either expected, and seems to surprise them both. It’s a strange thing that they even consider killing, let alone that they’re almost  _ used  _ to it. Riz’s mind's eye shows him flashes of hell and heaven and Coach Daybreak, a bang of a gunshot. Fabain’s shows him Leviathan, as it often does. Flashing blades and shouting and blood and he shakes his head, abrupt.

The boy at his side knows him well enough to know what that means, and he is wordless in the comforting hand he puts on Fabian’s arm. In front of others, and sometimes alone, Fabian would shrug this off with a laugh and a joke, skipping to the next conversation as quickly as he dances in battle, a one-two-hop forwards. Now, he doesn’t. He places a hand over Riz’s for a light moment, gives it a squeeze, and lets himself take a deep breath.

(Only Riz knows that Cathilda taught Fabian breathing techniques recently. Nightmares had been getting worse, ones in which he’s drowning and sinking and as much as he tries, he can’t break through to the surface. He wakes up tasting saltwater, choking up memories that he can’t bear to dwell on for too long.)

“You okay?” Riz asks after the fourth inhale, hold, exhale cycle.

“I will be.” He nods, confirming it to the both of them. “Do you have the paint?”

“Yep.” Riz scrambles in his bag for a moment, pulling out the cans of spray paint. “Okay, not that I’m doubting you, but… what are you actually gonna do? You don’t draw much, and we don’t have enough paint to cover all the other crap on this board.”

“The Ball, you should learn not to doubt me!” Just like that, Fabian’s wicked smile is back, and he’s off walking about the car park. 

The  _ other  _ reason that this place can only generously be called a car park is the fact that locals have clearly started using it as an impromptu dump. There’s discarded tires and furniture that really should be in a tip, but have ended up as extensions to the art exhibit. A half-smashed toilet is painted in technicolour just meters to their left.

Fabian wastes no time in picking through the discarded trash, dragging it over to the board piece-by-piece. A desk goes first, and a small stool on top of that, and so the mountain grows. It’s enough for him to clamber on top of, getting him higher and higher up the board.

“Are you going to help me do this, the Ball?” Fabian grunts as he drags over a tire,  _ another  _ layer for the mountain he’s creating.

“Strength kind of isn’t my  _ thing _ , Fabian. I’m here for moral support.” Riz grins ear to ear at the glare Fabian gives him, one eyebrow cocked up as if to say,  _ really?  _ “What? Am I not a good source of moral support? Do you want me to cheer?”

At that, Riz bunches the plastic bag that had previously held the cans of paint into the world’s worst pompom, rustling it above his head. “Give me an F, give me and A…”

“This is torture.”

“Choose better company next time.” Riz grins smugly, dropping the crumpled bag back down to his side. 

“I’d struggle to.” Fabian replies. What he had  _ meant  _ to say, of course, was that  _ he’d struggle to choose worse _ . But that’s not what comes out. The truth slips out instead of a lie and that’s a shock for him, one that sends a burning sensation to his cheeks that he doesn’t want to call a blush, but would be hard-pressed to find another name for. He clears his throat all too loudly and turns around carefully atop his pile of trash. “Can you throw me the paint?”

The comment doesn’t slip past Riz. Not much does, and nothing so obvious. He does a mediocre job at covering the sounds of a surprised choking, and is for once  _ grateful  _ for the fiftieth call to his crystal from Fig that day. “Oh, uh, yeah, of course. You know the others are  _ super  _ trying to find us, right? I know we talked about that on the way here, but now they’re, like, _ actively  _ looking.”

“I know.” There’s a certain confidence in Fabian’s voice that wasn’t there a moment before and Riz’s ears prick up -  _ literally _ , raising slighter in curiosity. Riz chucks the cans upwards to Fabian, who is now essentially level with the centre most point on the board in front of them. “I was thinking about what we should do about that while we drove here. On one hand, I could tell them all to leave us  _ alone _ , but they aren’t good at following instructions.”

Fabian flicks the lid off the spray paint and it tumbles down to the ground, pinging off furniture on it’s way down. He shakes the can of gold paint. The rattle seems to echo for miles.

“On the  _ other  _ hand, we could make this more fun than it already is. Because this  _ is  _ fun, and I would like it to continue. Plus, just doing a giant  _ penis  _ on a big board full of many smaller penises doesn’t feel stupid enough. Starting - or, well,  _ continuing _ \- a wild goose chase with our friends? Seeing what we can do before they find us? Now  _ that _ seems stupid enough for my tastes.”

There’s something about being with Riz that makes his plans come rapid and spontaneous like this, bursting like laughter and fireworks in all the best ways.

Riz laughs, and then he realises Fabian isn’t joking.

He laughs more, he  _ giggles _ , a level of giddiness he doesn’t often reward himself, one that he sees mirrored in Fabian. “Oookaay….” he stretches the sound out, intrigued. “So you’re gonna leave them a message, aren’t you?”

Fabian contorts himself once more to beam at Riz. There’s a moment, then, shared between the two of them. Even though Fabian is admittedly much higher above Riz, they’re on the same level. Fabian lays out the dots in front of Riz, and Riz connects them instantly.

To be understood and to understand, even in something so stupid.

In lieu of a verbal response, Fabian holds the can of paint as if it’s his new weapon, freshly unsheathed. He gets to work, leaning precariously side to side as he draws out letters as large as he can, covering the layers and layers underneath with a new focal point. It takes a while, of course, and each letter is done in a beautiful, curling script, the shimmering gold sparkling in the sunlight. Unconsciously, Riz’s hand rests in the pocket he keeps a business card in at all times. The same penmanship, for the world to see.

**_FABIAN AND RIZ WERE HERE._ **

**_COME TO HARROWAY BAY._ **

Fabian clambers down the pile he made for himself when he’s finished, grinning up at his work in appreciation.

“You said you were gonna put your  _ full  _ name on there, not just Fabian.” Riz points out. He’s smiling to the point that it hurts.

“Well, I included you instead, the Ball, so let's not be a critic.”

“You even called me  _ Riz.  _ Do you want money from me, or something? Is this a  _ MAKE A WISH  _ and I just wasn’t told? _ ” _

“Would you be positive, for once? ‘ _ Fabian and Riz were here’ _ is just better for comedic effect, whenever our friends do find this.” He turns to Riz with a smile of equal proportion. “Or maybe I’m just going soft on you.”

“It’s almost as if I’ve called you my best friend for, like, two years now.” The comeback is said with a softness, the fact that Fabian Seacaster is  _ soft on him  _ hitting him square in the chest, knocking him back a mile or maybe seven, all while his feet are planted firmly to the ground.

The laugh that it elicits from Fabian knocks him another mile and he’s only pulled back by an elbow into his upper arm. “You’re awful. Anyway. To Harroway Bay?”

“Why Harroway Bay? I was so caught up on the name thing I forgot to ask.”

“I am going to jump off a cliff.”

Riz wishes he’d been drinking in that moment. The spit take would have been legendary.

“You’re going to do fucking  _ what,  _ Fabian?! That’s stupid. Are you kidding?! In what world is that a good idea?” He’s all on edge again, the relaxed nature of teenage rebellion slipping from his grip as he juggles the new plan in his mind.

The boy in front of him could not look more nonplussed if he tried. “No,  _ this  _ was the do-something-stupid agenda.  _ That  _ is the do something scary agenda.”

“No, that’s the  _ do something to get yourself killed agenda _ , idiot! No way.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“You are aware that that isn’t a legally fucking binding guarantee that you’ll survive  _ jumping off a cliff,  _ right?” Riz gesticulates with his hands, hoping the stress-conducting of an invisible orchestra will somehow sway Fabian to his side of the debate.

“Legally, yes, but I’ll be fine, Riz.” The emphasis Fabian puts on Riz’s name stops him in his tracks. It’s not harsh, it’s firm. Confident and reassuring, but not in the bravado filled way in which most of Fabian’s promises are made. “You know that I’ve been less than in love with the water since Leviathan. I’m tired of it having that control over me. So, I’m taking it back.”

“Could you not do that in the local swimming pool?”

“No.” Fabian chuckles. “No, it’s not quite the same.”

“This roadtrip just took a tonal shift, dude.”

“I know. But I figured of all people, you’d understand.  _ Do  _ you? Because if you truly hate the idea of it, I don’t know, we can cross out that location and change it to… Arbys, or something.” The offer is genuine, given to Riz with a look of softness in Fabian’s eyes that he can’t help but overanalyse.

And, of course, Riz  _ does  _ get it. He sees himself  _ eating Goldenhoarde _ , and of course he gets it. He’d be a hypocrite not to, and not a very good best friend. “Yes. I get it. I just… I’m a bit worried, is all. You’re taller than me, if you hadn’t noticed. I don’t know how to drag you to safety, if it comes to that. The hangman can’t swim.”

There’s an obnoxiously loud rev of an engine, and the elemental voice grumbles: “I cannot, sire!”

“He wasn’t talking to you!” Fabian clarifies with another laugh. “I’ll be fine. Will you trust me for this?”

“Ugh, fine. Yes.”

Fabian smiles. Riz does, too.

(They both know yes was the only answer. They know if Riz had asked, Fabian would have said yes, too.)

\---

The Bad Kids find the sign that was left for them, of course.

On Char’s guidance, they plug the tourist trap into their GPS and head on their way, not quite sure what they’ll find. Kristen unsuccessfully tries to persuade them to make a pit stop for paint to add to the board themselves, an idea met with a resounding  _ no  _ from the others, knowing all too well that it wouldn’t be the case of a quick art project. Fig promises another time, though, already planning to promote her next tour that way.

There was a debate about what they’d find when they got there - if Riz and Fabian would be there waiting, if there would be some surprise, if there would be a message - and if there  _ was  _ a message, what it would be.

It’s a question quickly answered even before they pull into the car park. From the approach on the highway, glittering golden letters are visible in the sunlight. With the board’s proximity to the roadside, it’s easy enough to make out what it says.

Gorgug turns the radio down, and a hush falls over the van, as jaws drop in tandem as they look at the message left for them.

Gorgug is the first to laugh, a bubbling laugh of shock and amusement in his chest erupting as he turns the van into the car park. “Holy shit. Yeah, this tracks for Fabian.”

“Oh my fucking Gods.” Fig laughs, running a hand through her hair and taking her crystal out, immediately taking picture after picture of the board. “This is so fucking cool. Like, it’s dumb, but its cool.”

“He is…  _ so  _ over the top, isn’t he?” Adaine giggles. There’s a shot of love straight into her heart as she says it. “I can’t believe he roped Riz, of all people, into this.”

“You really think Riz would ever say no to him?” Kristen asks pointedly. “Or that Fabian would pick any of us over Riz? I’ll tell you what I think.”

“Please do.” Adaine interjects, amused.

“I think this is an elaborate promposal.”

“I think you’re wrong, but, like. It  _ could  _ be.” Gorgug chuckles as he puts the parking break on. “Do we even need to get out? Like, we know where they’re going.”

“Oh, come  _ on,  _ we gotta get a group pic by this before we follow them. Send it to the assholes, so they know we’re coming for them.” Fig exclaims, grabbing Kristen by the hand, who grabs Adaine in turn, and running to the front of the board. She uses the precarious pile of furniture still standing in place to balance her crystal on, right between a chair and a tire, and sets it up on a timer.

Gorgug can’t even pretend to be grumpy as he jogs over to join the photo.

It hardly captures the writing, of course, just a snippet of  **_HARROWAY BAY_ ** , the golden loops behind them as they pose together, giggling throughout. Fig flips off the camera. Adaine smiles politely, boggy in her hand. Kristen gives a peace sign. Gorgug waves.

(There’s the shared realisation that this trip  _ might  _ have been for all of them after all, inadvertently or not. Fabian would have known his best friends would try and find them. And he’s made it fun for them, given them more of a reason to spend time together, their favourite people on the planet.)

As they head back to the car, Fig stays back a moment. She keeps a sharpie behind her ears most of the time, scribbling song lyrics that pop into her mind onto paper in her pockets, or on her arms, or on her jeans - wherever she can. She takes it from where it’s tucked and pops the lid off with a smile, ear to ear. In her usual, scrawled script, she writes the words

**_THE OTHER BAD KIDS WERE HERE, TOO!_ **

And admires it with pride.

Of course, she also writes a little  **_FIG + AYDA_ ** in a love heart to the side, takes a picture of it and sends it to Ayda.

With the name of her friends and her loved ones on the same board, she puts the lid back on the pen and tucks it back in its spot for safekeeping. She takes a moment to appreciate it - their names written together, for the world to see, just for a little bit.

Or for nobody to see at all.

For Fig, it was never about being seen. It was about being together.

She goes back to the Hangvan with a smile.

\---

Harroway Bay is a curved corner of Solace, a rocky beach looking over the sea. It crashes against the rocks in a steady rhythm, repetitive and hypnotic. The sea spray reaches up to the top of the cliff Fabian and Riz find themselves standing on, the Hangman parked quite a while back. They’ve clambered over “ _ no trespassing”  _ signs to get here, much to the disapproval that Riz had to bite back.

He’s trusting Fabian. This is fine.

Fabian is standing and staring out to sea, and Riz notices that for all their similarities, he still doesn’t look one bit like his father. A year ago, there would be a certain rigidness in that stance. Defensiveness, a wall. He’s more open now, since everything. His shoulders can relax, he can stand without being prepared to jump into battle.

And, the strangest thing of it all, Riz realises, is that Fabian doesn’t seem  _ scared _ .

He’d expected some sort of panic, or performed bravado to mask how he felt, but there’s none of that, as far as he can make out.

Fabian doesn’t feel it, either. His hands are in his pockets, fiddling with a loose thread, but it’s not the bone deep anxiety he’d been expecting. To do something that scared him had been the goal, of course, and this was… lacking that, somehow. That’s what he puzzles over in his head as he stares at the waves, blue crashing into foaming white, hitting against the grey rocks.

The horizon doesn’t look far enough away to scare him like it used to, either.

Logically, he feels as though he should be scared. He has the nightmares. He feels the heart palpitations from the imaginary. He lives the moment over and over again in his head, and it terrifies him. The thought of this, briefly, when the idea came into his head,  _ terrified _ him. But now, as he takes a deep inhale (“ _ Hold it that bit longer, master Fabian,”  _ he can practically hear Cathilda saying), it just… doesn’t.

Somehow, the whole not being scared is scaring him more than the fear he’d anticipated.

Riz gives him a long while before he speaks, voice quiet and timid, weighted carefully as to not seem pushy. “You know, you don’t have to jump… if, like, you’re doubting it.”

“It’s not that.” Fabian answers, faster than he thought he’d be able to. “I… it’s less that I don’t want to do it because I’m scared of it, it’s more that… I don’t want to do it because I’m  _ not _ scared of it. Which doesn’t make much sense, considering everything.”

“Leviathan?” Riz asks.

“Leviathan.”

There’s a thud as Riz drops a jacket he was wearing onto the floor, and Fabian guesses by the sounds of shuffling behind him that Riz has sat down on it. Fabian sighs a moment before he does the same, shrugging his jacket off and placing it down next to Riz’s, sitting himself down. He doesn’t look at him for long, and lets himself continue watching the horizon.

“I mean… I guess it kind of makes sense. If you think about it logically.” Riz suggests after a while.

“What do you mean? It doesn’t feel very logical to me. If I have  _ nightmares _ , the least I can do is get it over with and experience it in person. Then I’ll move on.” He knows his tone is somewhat snappy when he replies, and he drags a hand down his face. “Sorry. Ignore the tone. I know, I’m an ass.”

Instead of anger, Riz huffs a little laugh. “Yeah, but I get it. You’re wanting, like… immersion therapy.”

Fabian does look at him, then, and raises an eyebrow.

“Pun unintended, but damn, I wish I could take credit for that.” Riz laughs again. He takes a leap (metaphorically, of course - he’s not going near that cliff’s edge) and shuffles that bit closer. Fabian is sitting, leaning back on his arms, while Riz sits cross-legged next to him. They’re not quite touching. “I mean, like… I guess it’s not the water you’re scared of.”

“I mean, the Ball, I am having nightmares of  _ the water _ . Is that not indicative of, you know, being shit scared of the water?” Fabian’s response drips with sarcasm.

“You’re being an ass again.” Riz nudges him. He sees Fabian smile. “I’m gonna sound like Jawbone here, but, like… no? You have nightmares of the water of Leviathan, and the forest of the Nightmare King. But it’s not  _ water  _ or  _ trees _ you’re scared of -”

“I don’t know, Riz, if an awakened tree ran at me right now, I wouldn’t be best pleased.”

“Asshole, stop interrupting. I’ll throw you in the water myself. I mean that, like, it’s what  _ happened  _ there. Not the place itself. Y’know, fear isn’t always this tangible thing we can fix by hitting. It’d be easier if it was, and it’s nice when it is, like with Goldenhoarde. But life isn’t that simple a lot of the time.” Riz sighs, shrugging slightly. He turns to look at Fabian from a better perspective. “Does that make sense?”

“Since when were you so  _ introspective?  _ Have you always been good at this?” Fabian asks.

“I just look at it like it’s a puzzle, I guess. It’s easier when it’s in someone else’s head, rather than your own? Like, you can look at the bigger picture. And it’s easier, with how well I know you.” Riz admits with a smile. He puts a hand on Fabian’s arm and shoves him, lightly, something between an affectionate pat and an awkward push. “You don’t have to jump in the water. It won’t fix your problems.”

“It would be nice if it would.” Fabian admits with a laugh, shaking his head. His hand moves on instinct to rest over Riz’s for a moment. “I think you’re right, yet again, and it’s very annoying.”

Riz knows Fabian well enough to know that that means thank you.

“Yeah. It is. You think talking about it would help? Like, sure, we were all in the forest together, but we got split up. I know you found Gorgug, eventually. I know we all found each other. But none of us really  _ talk  _ about it.”

Fabian pauses to think that one over. He seems himself alone, forgotten, and there it is - that bone deep fear he’d been expecting. He shivers, and shuffles closer to Riz, shoulder to shoulder, a steady press of contact reminding him he exists.

“I don’t think I want to. Not… today.”

“But someday? When you’re ready?” Riz asks.

“It could help.” He admits, sighing. “It’s just… scary.”

“Well, so’s jumping into the ocean, and you were willing to do that,” comes the countering point, delivered with a sharp-toothed smile.

“Touche.” Fabian smiles back again, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just this one takes more long-term work, and we know how I feel about that. Negatively. I feel negatively, if you needed the reminder. Dancing has helped, and I’m less of a little shithead than I was, but it’s… being in your head for so long. How do you do it?”

“I don’t.” Riz admits. “Remember, I just said I suck at it. That’s why I try to figure out everyone else’s shit. That’s what my mom says, anyway.”

“What does scare you, then? What would you do, if you were me? Obviously, not jump into a fucking ocean.”

“Because I don’t have a death wish.”

(Fabian sees himself crashing a ship into hell to get Riz back, in that moment.)

“I only do for the right people, Riz.” He says, then, instead of denying it. Riz blinks once, twice, three times, and Fabian can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tries to read through the layers of what it could be that Fabian is  _ really  _ implying.

As is his style, Fabian moves onwards. “I’ll change the question, then. When you have a  _ less tangible  _ fear, or a fear at all - okay, no, I’m changing the question again. What  _ are  _ you scared of?”

“So many things. I have an anxiety disorder.”

“Okay, what’s one you’re dealing with now, then?” Fabian probes in the way that tells Riz he’s set on getting an answer.

What he doesn’t quite get is that Fabian is hoping for a certain answer, too. One he’s feeling in the way Riz has not quite let go of him for long in this whole trip. One he’s seeing in the looks Riz keeps giving him. One that has clicked now, more than before, despite it seeping in through the windowpanes like early morning sunlight.

One found in understanding and being understood, not just in stupid things anymore, but in the most serious. In the fears he tries to keep tucked away, out of sight - the ones laid bare in the eye of an investigator, in the eyes of the boy who doesn’t have to be told that he’s his best friend to know it implicitly.

It’s horribly obvious, and horribly unspoken, and has been since well before the start of this journey.

“I mean…” Riz huffs a sigh, brows furrowed. His tail flicks to the side. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?”

“Now that’s a weighted statement. What are you talking about, dude?”

“You’re meant to be the mystery guy, Riz.” Fabian points out. That fear is back now, but… not quite.

He’s not quite sure what’s fear and what’s excitement.

“Can you stop being cryptic? Are you about to throw me in that? Fabian, I will make a gun appear out of thin air, I don’t know how, but I will, and I will shoot you before you try. That’s a promise.” Riz looks deadly serious, too, and Fabian doesn’t doubt him for a moment.

“No, no, the Ball. Riz, I mean. I mean, instead, I think I’ve found the thing that can scare me enough - other than talking about my feelings, which can be a long term fear, which just sounds miserable, now I phrase it like that, but that’s a problem for a therapist and my father in Hell, who I may be having some words with - long overdue, if you ask me, after what we talked about in the diner - oh. I’ve rambled.”

“You’ve rambled.” Riz agrees.

“What if I said that I think I asked you on this trip because I think I like you more than I thought I liked you? And I think it may have been that way for some time?” Fabian asks, hardly leaving a beat between Riz’s words and his own. He asks them with a hopeful smile, and realises then that he’s breathing somewhat heavily.

The sounds of the sea and the smell of the saltwater keeps as constant as ever, even as life seems to stop in the pause between Fabian’s question and Riz’s answer.

“Is this a prank, or something?” Riz asks. He has the same look of scepticism on his face as he did when Fabian collected him this morning.

“No, Riz, I may be an asshole but I’m not  _ that  _ much of an asshole.”

“You know I’ve liked you for like two years, right?”

“I think I’m realising that right now.” Fabian admits with a chuckle. “They do say road trips are about self discovery. And I did say I’d do something that scared me today - I think this counts as that.”

“What the fuck? I mean, yes, what - what? Hey, holy shit, if I knew you were gonna say, like, you liked me, I would have dressed nicer!” Riz exclaims. He’s shifted, no longer sat crossed legged, but kneeling and facing Fabian fully, eyes so wide that they’re practically black.

“You wear a waistcoat to school, daily.” Fabian decides he has to make the point, grinning wickedly. “Could I kiss you?”

Riz’s answer comes through laughter. “I hate you. Yes.” 

Fabian does, then. It’s not his first kiss, but it’s his nicest so far, albeit short. A confession is enough for one day, so a hand on Riz’s cheek and a short, soft, press of lips is just about as much as he thinks either of them can handle.

He’s smiling when he pulls back. “That went better than jumping off a cliff might have.”

“You could say that.” Riz replies, shellshocked and breathless, grinning.

“Do you want to skygaze for the afternoon? I don’t feel like leaving yet. I don’t think I’m scared of the water. It… doesn’t remind me of my father, or Leviathan, or anything. Not right now. It just sounds nice.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Riz is quick to agree. He’s on his back before Fabian is, grinning up at the sky. Fabian takes one look out at the sea, and one at Riz, before he’s quick to follow, stretching out with a long, relaxing, inhalation of air.

Just like Cathilda taught him to.

  
  


\---

Fabian and Riz haven’t moved by the time the Bad Kids find them. They’re talking to each other, still, a few hours later, staring up at the same blue sky and the clouds that watch over them.

Adaine is the first to stop them in the distance and she holds a hand out to stop the other’s behind her. “Guys - guys, stop, shut up, look. Look! Over there.”

She points them out with wide eyes and a wider smile.

“Oh my gods. Has it happened? Finally?” Fig asks.

“Holy shit.” Gorgug adds in. “They didn’t kill each other.”

“Do you think Riz said yes to going to prom?” Kristen questions, and shrugs innocently with a confused, “ _ what?”  _ when the others turn to stare at her in complete confusion.

“Are we meant to, like, go over?” Adaine asks. Boggy lets out a little croak, and Adaine hums as if in understanding. “It seems a little… intrusive.”

“We have followed them about sixty miles up a highway.” Gorgug leverages with a smile. “We’re kinda past that.”

“ _ And _ they told us to follow them.” Fig is bouncing on her heels, like a racecar ready to go.

But Kristen is off running first, hopping over the final  _ no trespassing  _ barrier and tearing across the grass, shouting at the top of her lungs. “Hey! Hey, assholes, you’re not dead! We thought, briefly, that you were gonna be dead! Why the fuck did  _ locate object _ take so long to work?”

The other three share a look - tired, amused, fond, full of love. Curious, and excited, more than anything. All it takes is a tilt of the head and a shrug from Adaine before they reach a silent agreement - it’s time to bring the entire gang back together, and in a second they’re running in Kristen’s footsteps.

There’s an unintelligible overlap in the questions being fired at Fabian and Riz, the arguments Fabian is retorting with, the stammered excuses Riz tries to come up with on the fly, and the laughter that overrules it all, smiling faces showing there’s no love lost between them - only memories gained.

The other Bad Kids waste no time at all in sitting nearby Fabian and Riz, with Kristen already picking a patch of daisies nearby and weaving them into a chain, Fig taking off her stupidly tall platform boots, Adaine placing Boggy down to explore and Gorgug stretching out like a cat in the sun.

Fabian smiles the brightest he has all day and takes a moment as the conversation moves from questions directed at him to Fig’s dramatic retelling of their own day, with Adaine chiming in with a running commentary of fact checking whenever Fig’s bardic ways take her away from the path of truthfulness. Away from the line of fire of questions, he takes another breath of the sea air.

It’s different in his lungs than it has ever been before - fresh, lifegiving, new. Breathing, reimagined. It’s exhilarating not in the way that riding his bike at stupid o’clock is, but in the sense that he knows this is one of those moments that make a person. 

And for the first time in a long time, it’s one that will be remembered with a smile.


End file.
